


Aftermath of the Fall

by greekowl87



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Cancer Arc, Fluff, MSR, bts - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekowl87/pseuds/greekowl87
Summary: A behind the scenes ficlet involving Scully, Mulder, and the cancer arc. Some angst. Fluff guaranteed. Will you cry? Perhaps.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Aftermath of the Fall

The chemo wrecked her body every time she went.

Scully couldn’t have foreseen that the Saturday after her last round that she and Mulder would receive a last-minute case in the middle of Minnesota which was experiencing once of the worst snowstorms in the state’s history. Scully managed to survive the day before they headed back to their crappy motel. The blizzard continued to pound the outside door and with a weary headache, she turned up the aged heater in her room.

She was tired. Her bones hurt. Her stomach, empty from lack of appetite, felt like it was eating itself. Her head was pounding. Mulder had left her for his insomnia to research a theory about battlefield ghosts which left her alone. For that, she was thankful for it.

Scully changed into her silken pajamas and climbed into bed. Her head was swimming. Her stomach kept turning. The blasted and infernal tumor that sat between her sinus and brain. Slowly killing her. Strangling her life from within. Let her sleep her bed and die a little more. Scully shivered at the thought of feeling helplessly unable to do anything.

It was fatigue that eventually won. Her memory and functions were a blur as she collapsed on top of the bed in a drunken stupor. God, how she wish this had been the effects of the alcohol instead of the chemo. Then the bile. The bitterness building up in her throat. She felt like she was choking. Scully rushed to the bathroom, trying to brace herself on unfamiliar ground. Then it came. The sensation of choking due to the bile had caused her to start coughing which in turn caused the vomiting sensation.

Scully remembered trying to brace her arms against the walls to keep herself from falling down. She lost her grip and the next thing she remembered was a sharp pain and blackness.

“Scully.”

Mulder.

“Scully. Come on, wake up…”

Mulder, I’m here.

Her eyes fluttered open. Mulder was above her, his hazel eyes betraying his worry.

“What happened?”

“Wrap your arms around my neck.”

She laughed. “I hardly think this is the time or the place.”

“I guess a concussion brings out your humor,” he remarked.

He scooped up her body like it was nothing and she coiled into his warmth. “Didn’t fall,” she murmured sleepily.

“That shiner on your temple indicates otherwise.”

She was vaguely aware of Mulder slipping her beneath the covers and placing something cold against her left temple. Scully was aware of his presence. Against the chill of the motel room, makeshift ice pack, and Montana blizzard, he stood out like a fire. “Stay,” she whispered.

“I need to get a doctor.”

“You know what to look for in a concussion,” she remarked, removing the ice pack. It fell to the ground with a loud thud. She reached and found his hand. Mulder shifted and she pulled him toward her out of instinct. “Mulder, give this to me. Stay with me.”

Memory is funny; it is either straight and linear or jumps point to point like a billy goat. The next thing Scully remembered was Mulder around her. He held her like the most cherished thing in the universe. She closed her eyes as sleep overtook her. Mulder’s long arms turned out the lights and switched the somehow still working television to an aged Rogers and Hammerstein musical. The King and I.

“Do you want something different, Scully,” he whispered. His lips feathered her ear and caused her to clinch in sensations she had long denied.

“No. This is good. This is perfect.”

“I hate this movie.”

“I know.”

Scully yawned and Mulder stretched against her. “I know you love classical music but this is the best I could do.”

“I know.”

She tugged his arms around her like a blanket. “You know this film slash musical is all about colonialism.”

“Pretend it’s us. I teach you how to be a skeptic and you teach me to be a believer.”

Mulder chuckled and she felt his soothing kisses. Scully felt her war-torn body relax. “We’ll get through this,” he promised.

This…the cancer, their whatever, or both. She was too tired to complicate the thought and settled on the thought of them and whatever their relationship was.


End file.
